


Lady Malfoy and the Wolf

by SherlockMalfoy



Series: Sherlock!Wizardverse Drabbles - General [35]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied abuse, Time-Wimey, implied rape
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-29
Updated: 2013-05-29
Packaged: 2017-12-13 08:19:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/822080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SherlockMalfoy/pseuds/SherlockMalfoy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>During Draco's fifth year at Hogwarts, back home in Malfoy Manor things were getting worse. Once Lucius was sent to Azkaban, his wife remained to suffer the Dark Lord's twisted sense of punishment alone. Each time she is taken and used, she finds comfort in the mornings after the moon when the quiet and kind Tobias tends her wounds.</p>
<p>*Takes place between the Prologue and Chapter 1 of <i>Blood Loyal</i>*</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lady Malfoy and the Wolf

He had waited months for this opportunity. To get close to her again. Their initial meeting was brief. That time he could not approach her. They were surrounded by the Dark Lord's followers and Fenrir's pack.

But now... Now he had the time. She would be alone. And he knew ways to get around the Dark Lord's all seeing gaze. Quietly he waited in her rooms. Rooms he knew so very well... for he had played in them as a child. Had stayed up late studying over the summers for the next year of school.

He held his breath when the door to her suite opened. The unmistakable stench of a pack-wolf accompanied her as she was thrown in and the door locked behind her.

Every fibre of his being urged him to move. To go to her and help her. But this he could not do. Not yet. Not like this. She would not welcome the sight of him after her latest ordeal.

Instead he remained where he had hidden himself beneath her bed. Watching the woman as she wept herself to sleep on the floor. He would wait here, and watch over her until dawn, when his lupine form had faded and he would not be a figure of danger and fear; a reminder of the humiliation she had been forced to endure in the course of her son's protection.

 

**o0o**

She woke in distress – crawling away from the young man kneeling beside her. Arms instantly coming up to cover her chest. The blood encrusted gashes in her arms cracking and flaking, a fresh ooze emanating from the wounds.

She stared at him as she scrambled backwards, putting as much distance between her and the lanky man. He did not move, only watched her with concern in his silver eyes. His lips moved as he quietly whispered.

She closed her eyes, expecting another torture. Expecting anything except the feeling of nausea as the spell he cast washed over her body. The tingling in her arms and legs as skin repaired itself. The sickening pull and twisting of her insides as one by one, her organs were realigned. The ebbing pain of her loins as her skin was pulled together and repaired piece by piece from where she had been so violently violated the night before.

Her groans of pain turned to gentle whimpers of relief as she opened her eyes and slumped against the nearest piece of furniture.

"Are you in any more pain?" he asked, his voice soft. An unexpected sound from such a filthy looking ruffian. "I've prepared a few potions to aid your recovery." He caught her eye briefly, then turned his face away. "I won't be missed for days. They don't expect you to recover enough for another.... session until a week has passed."

She did not speak. She did not dare.

Nor could she trust this stranger... for she had first laid eyes on him among the throng of disgusting mongrels Greyback had paraded before the Dark Lord.

 

**o0o**

Every full moon, she was dragged from her rooms. She was tortured. She was used. Time and again she was punished for her husband's failures and her son's reluctance to take his father's place in the dark court.

And each time, the filthy man with the silver eyes would be there when she woke. Carefully tending to her wounds. At first she believed him to have been stationed in her rooms to ensure she did not die without permission. But after the third occurrence, she realized this man was there to keep her safe. To watch over her with a kindness she only glimpsed in her dearest Severus's eyes... A kindness that was slowly fading from her son's own.

His touches were always light and careful. Cautious and compassionate. She found herself grateful for his presence so much that, in these times, it was the only thought that kept her from breaking. Kept her from allowing insanity to creep into her thoughts as she was placed under the Dark Lord's wand time and time again before he tossed her to the beasts to be ravaged and used.

Their mornings, those three in a row around every full moon, were spent in silence save for his questions after her health and well-being. Save for her whimpers and groans as he tended to her.

Finally, after one particularly savage night, she dared ask the question that had been burning in her heart for months.

"Why?"

"You are family," he said simply as he dabbed at her back with a poultice. "I take care of my family."

She was silent, contemplating his words. Then she frowned. She had seen his face enough now that if he were a relation she would recognize it from the tapestries of her family. True, she thought as she examined his face behind her through the mirror before them, his face held familiar traits.

The cheekbones, of course, gave him a pointy appearance found only in a Malfoy... Yet there was kindness in his earnest smiles. A kindness never seen in either Black nor Malfoy. Perhaps, then, he were a distant relation. A cousin, of sorts.

But of which family of hers did she share this connection with him? The silvery eyes of a Malfoy, but the bearing and body of a Black.

"Narcissa," he said quietly. "You know... The Dark Lord has plans for your son."

It was a subject they both knew quite well as the boy's birthday was fast approaching. "I... would like to take him away from here. Before he is forced to take the Mark."

"Because he is family?" she pressed, a bit harsher than she had intended.

He nodded, biting his lip as he applied a fresh bandage to one of the latest magic-resistant wounds she had been inflicted with. "Because he is family."

"How?" she asked, a bit softer than before. "How are we two linked? How are we your family?"

He would not answer, she knew, be cause he never answered personal questions. Save about his first name. So that she at least had something to call her visitor.

He stared at her reflection a moment. Then, carefully, he turned her to face him. Dirt crusted nails and calloused fingers brushed her long blond hair away from her face and tucked it behind her ear. "I... can show you. Spoken words are dangerous, should the wrong people hear them."

She watched his face, his eyes staying clear of her own. His matted hair, she noticed, would appear rather fine if cleaned. A similar shade to her own, but subtly darker. There, in his expression which had always remained guarded despite the open compassion he showed, was the pain she knew to be hidden there. The weight of his unspoken burden. And his despair at... What it was she could not fathom. His words on family now were more genuine than she had herself supposed.

She gave a slow nod, reaching up with thin fingers to grace his cheek and draw his attention back to her.

"Your son, Draco, must never know of the things I am about to show you." He put a finger to her lips before she could protest. "You will understand why. And I am very sorry... This is the only way to prove to you my sincerity."

He looked the woman straight in the eye, and she knew the moment his silver eyes locked onto hers what she was meant to do.

Silently she cast the spell. And was bombarded by images from this man's mind.

Carefully she rooted through them, and found one to focus on. Found one to draw herself into, and soon she was walking among the young man's memories...

 

_**o0o** _

_"Honestly Sherlock he'll be perfectly safe with your father. It's only a week."_

_Narcissa found herself in a courtyard. Flowers, bushes, trees, everything in full bloom. The skies were the clearest she had ever seen. Two men were standing near a fountain where a small, frail child was at play._

_"Look at him," said one of the men, smiling. Narcissa moved closer so that she could see them much more clearly._

_One was tall. Thin. When she walked around to the front of the two men, she could see the pointed features that were most certainly recognizable. She gasped when he gave a small, slight smile, staring right through her to the child and the fountain._

_"Of course he is practicing magic at a first year level. He is, after all, a Holmes."_

_The shorter man, older looking than the tall, pale one beside him shook his head with an amused sigh. Narcissa saw the darker blond of her caretaker's hair mixed with this man's gray. She frowned in thought, then turned her attention back to the fair skinned man. His hair was dark, wild. Like her cousin, rest his soul, Sirius. But his eyes..._

_"Draco..." she whispered just as the child behind her squealed in delight._

_"Grandfather!" he shouted as she turned._

_Her blue eyes widened in surprise as she saw the figure hobbling down the stone path from the manor house. She did not notice the differences between her home and the mansion in this memory, for her attention was solely focused on the old, distinguished gentleman limping closer._

_Her heart wrenched as her eyes began to water with unshed tears. The child ran to him, and the man knelt down, arms open wide and a bright smile on his face. He carried the boy, with a bit of effort, back towards the fountain before he had to set him down._

_She approached them, as did the other two men. She went as close as she dared, knowing they could not see her but still unable to believe the sight before her eyes. It was unmistakable, that face. Older. Wrinkled by time. And the hair no longer the shining platinum but now a polished silver-white. This was her son._

_This was her darling Draco._

_And with him, her grandson, whom now she saw the fullness of his face. The bright gray eyes that mirrored her son's now... but would later turn silver as the infection of the wolf would come. There, that smile. That warm, worried, compassionate look on so young a face... She knew that expression._

_This man, her caretaker, was this boy. These two strange men his parents. And Draco..._

_She felt a tugging sensation as she was pulled from this memory into another. Another scene._

_Those two men were there again. The ballroom was one she recognized easily from many a feast and function at the Ministry._

_Around the men were many others. One man, older than the first, sat with his hands folded over a cane. Beside him, a beautiful red-haired woman. At first Narcissa assumed her to be a Weasley, but then... at closer inspection she noted the woman lacked the fire in her hair. Her red was a richer, more subdued red than that orange fire that sat atop a Weasley head. Looking around, she noticed the ballroom was filled with many portraits. Faces she recognized as her own contemporaries. Faces of children her son went to school with. Teachers. Business owners. Cooks. Mothers. Fathers. Sons. Daughters. Students and soldiers._

_The ballroom fell to silence. She turned towards the stage that had been set up below a space of wall where a curtain had been hung._

_There, standing at the podium was a woman. She was speaking of a war. Of heroes and villains and civilians in-between. Of great deeds and horrendous atrocities. And those who had died for a cause. Of the peace that came after. And behind her, sitting alone was a man she recognized so easily. In her own world he was still just a boy, but she knew those green eyes beneath the passage of time written on his face. The gray hair that had once been a wild, untamable black, was neatly trimmed. The tell-tale scar on his forehead irrefutable proof of the man's identity._

_She moved to stand on the stage, inspecting her enemy closely. Scrutinizing every detail as she circled this shadow of a memory. The sadness in his face. The swollen puffiness of his eyes. The silver band on his finger... A silver snake that seemed to slither and shimmer around his finger. She looked down at her own hand where that same ring sat flush against her thin, pale finger._

_It was in that moment she knew._

_In this distant memory she was long since deceased. And her son had done the unthinkable. He_ _had married a wizard. Not just any wizard..._

_He stood, walking through her as he crossed the stage. He must have already spoken, as he did not go to the podium to replace the woman who had just finished speaking. He went to a silver rope, old, shaking hands reaching up to wrap around it._

_With a mighty tug, the curtains pulled apart to reveal a new portrait for the walls. She could not hold back the tears as she beheld her son. Painted there, in his prime. Smirking, as he often did, from ear to ear and dressed in the robes of his aristocratic station. But there... as she came closer to the portrait she saw pinned to his collar two pins. One she recognized as the symbol of Dumbledore's resistance. The other a crest that, at first glance was that of the Malfoy family._

_At closer inspection she saw it differed. There were the snakes, yes. But there was also a stag. A symbol she recognized easily as the sigil of the house of Potter. She looked to Harry Potter now. The boy from the previous memory stood with him. He was older now. Larger. Stronger. More as he had appeared to her. Cleaner, too._

_Silver eyes watching Harry closely as he took the older man's arm and helped him down from the stage as the gathered audience began to disperse. The portrait of her son tracking Harry's movements with his eyes as he joined those whom she assumed were the large family he and Draco had somehow managed to build together._

_The familiar tugging sensation came again, and she was taken from the memory just as it had begun to fade._

 

_**o0o**_

She was once more in her rooms. Staring at the man before her with his silver eyes closed. She reached up and gently touched her fingers to his wet cheek. "You're... Draco survives the war."

"Only with help," he whispered. "That's why someone had to come."

"Why not send someone else?"

"It had to be me."

"You can never go back. What you've done... A wizard must not meddle with time, Tobias. It has great consequences."

"And benefits. I have a plan, Narcissa. But I need your help. I cannot get Draco out of here alone."

His hand came up to cover her own upon his cheek. "Tell me what I need to do," she said. "Tell me how to protect my son. To make sure he survives to be that man I saw."

"Bind me to him. Connect us in such a way that my very life depends on his survival."

"I cannot."

"Place on me an Unbreakable Vow, Narcissa, and I promise you Draco will be safe. He will survive. And he will finally be happy."

"And the limp?"

He smiled then, a bit of the Black in his blood showing through. "Christmas feast at the manor. A rather tame year, so I was told. The story goes he took a curse to the knee and never quite recovered from it. Left him with the limp. And he got really good at hitting people with that cane if they annoyed him... and I'm rambling. Sorry, I do that. Sometimes. But you wouldn't know because I try not to talk to you. Just in case... But right now, there's a few... well, I don't know how long the spells will last, so please. Do this for me. Do this so I can do what I came here to do. Save Draco."

Narcissa was silent. Her face an unreadable mask as she considered the man... no, her great-grandson's request. After a long, chilling moment, she gave a slight nod. "If it will save my son... Then I will do it."

"Tonight is the last of the full moon. In the morning, after you are brought back and I have tended your wounds, I must take the vow. We will have one month to prepare."

He let his hand fall, and hers slipped away from his face. Fingertips trailing down the strong jaw that she knew did not belong to any of her blood relations, but had come, somehow, from that strange blonde man she had seen in the memories. "I will find a way to warn Draco."

"He must never know what you've seen."

She nodded, catching his wrist when he stood to leave her, as he did every morning after tending her wounds. "Please," she begged. "Please tell me why you showed me these visions." She knew from the single saddened look he gave her what the answer would be.

He pulled his wrist from her grasp. "I... I'm so glad to have this chance to meet you, Narcissa."


End file.
